The Naming of Cats
by tempest10
Summary: Spock wants a cat, but others are less than appreciative of his efforts. When he gets one, hijinks ensue. Part 4 conclusion posted!
1. Chapter 1

"Spock?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Why are we here?"

"Well, various species have been asking that question for millennia, however- "

"No, I mean why are _we _here?"

"A malfunction."

"Caused by?"

"Mysouff"

"You gave it a _name_?!"

/

A few weeks before the earlier conversation, things had been well, if not eventful, on the _Enterprise_. Captain Kirk had been going over some paperwork involving the planet they were about to leave, and therefore his mind may not have been as focused as it should have been when Spock asked for permission to bring aboard a native organism "for various empirical purposes."

A bit distracted, Kirk had replied with "Oh, sure. But keep it under control, hmm?"

He didn't give the matter any thought until a few days later, when something soft had rubbed against his leg. Reaching down absent-mindedly, he found himself face-to-face with an amber-eyed, pointy-eared, oddly serious countenance. It looked him straight in the eye and said "Maowrr".

A few hastily (and angrily) placed inquiries led him to Spock, who appeared to have no reaction to his sputtering accusations other than a cocked eyebrow and one argument. "You gave me permission to keep him"

"When did I give you permission to have a cat?"

"Three days ago."

Racking his memory, Kirk vaguely recalled the conversation. "You never said anything about a pet cat!"

Spock remained impassive.

Kirk sighed. "Alright, you can keep him, but one problem, one complaint, and we are dropping him off at the next place we find on which is even remotely possible for a cat to survive."

That had been three weeks ago.

/

The other members of the crew seemed to have no objection to the cat, some even suggesting names. Though some were dignified (Tolstoy), some silly (Minty), and some downright strange (Eggcream), Spock had not decided on a name, wanting to wait until he found one that fit.

It had to be admitted though, that what Kirk was beginning to think of as The Cat was cute, in a certain way. Its fur was a soft white, except for a brown spot and a black one, the latter on the tip of his tail and the former covering the left side of his face.

McCoy, surprisingly, was one of The Cat's main proponents. "There's a history of ship's cats, Jim." he said, "and besides, it's kind of nice having him around. Pity Spock's not given him a name though."

Kirk thought back to _his_ suggestion for a name. Glacier wasn't that bad of an idea compared to some of the others that had been bandied about. It was better than McCoy's suggestion, Twain. It was a dumb idea, to name a cat after some writer that had been dead for who knows how many years? History wasn't his strong suit, after all. Banishing the thought, he left Sickbay and went to the bridge.

As he stepped into the turbolift, he found Spock and The Cat, also apparently on their way to the bridge. The Cat, nestled in his first officer's arms, seemed to give him a self-satisfied smirk. _Get ahold of yourself_, he thought, _It's a cat. It can't smirk._ As the doors shut, and the turbolift started to rise, the cat, for some obscure reason, jumped to the floor and rubbed against the wall. Specifically, it rubbed against the section of wall containing the control panel. The turbolift shuddered and ground to a halt. It hadn't moved for two hours, which brings us to the conversation at the beginning of this narrative.

/

"Well, why did you name it Mysouff? Why not name it something interesting?"

"Mysouff has a historical precedence. It was the name of a cat owned by a novelist, Alexandre Dumas. There is actually an interesting story about that particular cat- "

Kirk cut him off. "Right now, that is close to the last thing I want to hear. I just want to say that we have been trapped in here for two hours and it's all because of that blasted cat."

"It has not been two hours, it has 1.83413 hours. It will have been two hours in approximately 9.6 minutes." With an inscrutable expression on his face, Spock picked up Mysouff and began stroking him absentmindedly.

"Spock, you are changing the subject. I want you to get rid of that cat."

"I know how you feel about nonessential creatures aboard the ship ever since the incident with the tribbles. However, I believe that incident has blinded you to the benefits of having animals aboard."

Kirk sighed. There seemed to be no way out of this one. "All right, Mysouff can have one more chance. That's _one_."

'Thank you". Mysouff purred.

"And now that that's taken care of, how in, on, or under the world are we going to get out of this thing?"


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N: Yes, there is a real story about a cat called Mysouff. No, I won't tell you what it is; find it yourself. It's on the internet.)**

_If I were a cat, where would I hide?_ Spock slowly looked around his sparsely furnished room. He had checked under the covers on his bed, and Mysouff was obviously not on any shelves. He leaned over to open the drawers in his desk.

Logically, this was not the first place that Spock would look, but it was the only place he hadn't. Some drawers were large enough to hold a cat, never mind how Mysouff would have gotten in them. His cat sometimes demonstrated an unsettling ability to get in and out of things you would not expect him to fit into.

The drawers were empty except for a few files. There was certainly nothing in them that could hide a cat. The only explanation left was that his pet had somehow gotten out into the rest of the ship.

Spock had done his best to keep Mysouff in his quarters and out of the captain's way. Kirk didn't seem to actively dislike the cat; however, he would probably not take kindly to him roaming about the _Enterprise_. Spock set off in search of the feline.

/

Doctor McCoy looked up in surprise as Spock strode into Sickbay. Not one to bandy words, he asked "Well? What do you want?"

"I want to know if you have seen Mysouff. He is not in my quarters."

McCoy blinked. "He's missing? You'd better find him then."

"I wondered if he might have come here. He seems to have taken a liking to you."

"I haven't seen him. If he comes back this way, I'll keep him here and let you know to pick him up. Does Jim know?"

Spock glanced sideways. "No, he doesn't and I would prefer to keep it that way."

"I won't tell him, but you'd better find that cat before someone else does and let's Jim find out."

"All right Doctor." Turning to go, Spock glanced back. "One other thing."

"Hmm?"

"You probably have more experience in this sort of thing than I have. What would you recommend to find a lost cat?"

McCoy grinned in a way that made Spock seriously regret the question. "To find a lost cat, eh? Well if you really want my advice…"

/

"Here, kitty kitty kitty. Here Mysouff…"

Uhura stopped in her tracks on her way to the bridge. Working on a starship for several years, she had seen a lot of strange things but this took the cake.

"Spock? What are you doing?"

The first officer looked up at her and began to stand, from where he had been kneeling on the floor. "I am looking for Mysouff. I do not know where he is. Doctor McCoy recommended this method of searching."

Uhura nodded. "That explains the rubber mouse on a string. Did the doctor give you that too?"

"I don't understand why exactly, but apparently felines enjoy playing with this type of object, and it will make him come out from wherever he is hiding." A pause. "That is assuming, of course, that he is hiding. The Doctor explained it all very thoroughly."

"Figures. Did he also tell you to say 'here kitty kitty'?"

"That is apparently an approved method of cat calling. Was I doing it incorrectly?"

Uhura shook her head. "No, you were doing it just fine. I hope you find Mysouff really soon, though. Before anyone else sees you, that is." She gulped and walked quickly down the corridor, her shoulders shaking.

Spock watched her leave, wondering about her strange reaction. Perhaps she was just upset about Mysouff being missing. Yes, that was probably it. It was illogical to worry about it though; he would find the cat soon.

"Here kitty kitty…"

/

McCoy was in a good mood. He was sorry he wouldn't be able to hear Spock say 'here kitty kitty', but the knowledge was enough. Who knows, maybe Mysouff would come into Sickbay and he could give him a good cuddle. He'd be darned if he let Spock know that he liked his cat, but it was soft. Anyway, that would also give him a chance to give the cat a quick look-over. He was sure Spock took good care of him, and he was a doctor, not a veterinarian, but it might be a good idea to take a quick look. He should speak to Spock too, about having him fixed. There were no female cats on the ship but-

This train of thought was interrupted by Kirk walking into Sickbay. "Oh, hi Jim."

"Hi, Bones. Have you seen Spock?"

"Have you lost him?"

Kirk shook his head. "No, I just haven't seen him around. I need to tell him something, but it can wait until I see him."

"If I see him, I'll say that you're looking for him."

"Thanks, Bones. See you later."

"See you."

Kirk left.

McCoy grinned. If Kirk and Spock met when Spock was still looking for Mysouff…

Heck, he'd let him keep the cat toy.

/

Hours later, Spock went back to his quarters. The cat-calling techniques McCoy had shared with him hadn't helped. Well, maybe Mysouff had gotten hungry and come back.

He thought the last thought almost as he opened the door and just an instant before Mysouff leapt off Spock's bed and pressed himself against the Vulcan's legs, purring loudly.

Petting him absentmindedly, Spock walked over to the bed and saw a note someone had pinned to the covers. He picked it up.

_I found him sitting on my chair in the bridge. Looked for you, but I couldn't find you. I just brought him back here, since you probably wouldn't want everyone to know he was gone._

_- Jim Kirk_

Spock sat down. He thought that the word 'irony' was often used erroneously, to describe any amusing coincidence. Now though, that seemed the only word to describe this situation. Ironic.


	3. Chapter 3

Sitting at his desk, Spock contemplated the memo. It was an annoying task, but one that was unavoidable in a bureaucracy. Of course, some tried to avoid the job; he had never seen the logic in it. He began to type.

_To: All Departments_

_Subject: Upcoming Shore Leave_

_Since we will arrive at Tau Ceti e in a few dayshdsfidsfhkkh_

"Maowrr" Mysouff glared balefully up at Spock from where he had seated himself on the keyboard. Spock promptly deposited him on the floor. Sighing, he tried again.

_Since we will arrive at Tau Ceti e in a few days there is an opportunity fohkdahhhj;;_

Mysouff was on the keyboard again, this time kneading the keys with his paws. Spock set him back on the floor, but before the mistake could be erased, Mysouff was up there again. The look in the feline's eyes clearly said that no power on the Enterprise or off it would budge him from the keyboard. Spock met his stare and again pushed him to the floor.

…_there is an opportunity for shlieafiuidfdfkdkk_

Spock sighed and rubbed his temples. He had never truly regretted acquiring Mysouff, but at times the feline could be extremely aggravating. He didn't know if this was particular to his cat or to the species as a whole, but this habit of attacking his keyboard was infuriating. Mysouff leapt to the ground and rubbed his head against Spock's pant leg, purring loudly. He was obviously quite pleased that he had distracted Spock from his task.

The half-Vulcan frowned slightly, coming to a decision, lifted the cat, who was purring even louder now, and left his room.

/

On the trip through the corridors, Spock kept a firm grip on his cat, ignoring the curious glances he received from the few crewpeople he met. Word had gotten around about his pet, but Mysouff usually stayed in his room. Seeing him around the ship was a fairly rare occurrence, at least enough to attract a few looks.

When he arrived at Sickbay, the first thing he saw was a slightly suprised Doctor McCoy. The second thing he saw was an equally bemused Captain Kirk. "Well, hey there Spock. What brings you here today?" The doctor had a slight smirk.

"May I leave Mysouff here for a small while? He is attacking my keyboard."

McCoy started. "Whaddaya mean, attacking your keyboard?"

"Whenever I attempt to type something, he walks on my keyboard and prevents me from typing anything. It is exasperating." A thought struck him. "You once mentioned having a cat. Is this a common behavior?"

McCoy absentmindedly reached out and stroked the top of Mysouff's head. "I think all cats do that. You'll have to learn to live with it. Keep putting him back on the floor and he'll get the message eventually. I'll keep him for you until you finish what you were doing." McCoy accepted the feline from Spock's arms.

"Thank you Doctor."

After Spock left, Kirk glanced at the doctor. "Is it just me, or are you being a little easier on Spock these days? Uhura told me what you told him to do when Mysouff was missing, but that's the only really major thing that comes to mind."

McCoy shrugged. "Well, maybe I've got a soft spot for animals. Maybe I've realized the error of my ways and am going to be nice from now on. Maybe I'm just storing up for next time. Maybe I'm just tired."

"Maybe." Kirk agreed. "You know, it surprises me sometimes how fond Spock seems to be of that cat."

McCoy made a noncommittal shrug. "Well, I guess it goes to show. If he's got at least one emotion, there's hope for him yet."

When Kirk left, Spock had not yet returned for Mysouff. McCoy had no objection to keeping him overnight (or what passed for night on a starship). Either Spock had become involved in something so absorbing he had forgotten (unlikely), whatever he was working on had taken so long that it would make more sense to get the cat back in the morning (more likely; Spock knew McCoy liked cats and would not mind keeping him for the night), or there was some other, unknown, reason. Ahh, what did it matter? McCoy yawned. It was later than he'd thought. Picking up Mysouff, McCoy made his way to his quarters.

/

Sometime very late at night, McCoy woke. Why, he did not know. Could it have something to do with this heavy pillow lying on his chest? Wait a minute. What pillow?

He sat up with a start, in the process knocking an irate cat to the floor. "Maowrr!"

McCoy relaxed. It was just Spock's cat. He settled back down. Undeterred, Mysouff leapt onto the bed again, this time leaping onto the doctor's stomach. "Oof!"

In an attempt to push the cat off him, McCoy discovered that felines did not easily relinquish a first-rate sleeping spot. After a few minutes, he gave up resignedly and tried to get some sleep. Grumbling, he realized that with a cat on his belly that was easier said than done.

Myouff, though, was content. After all, this human's belly was warm, reasonably soft, and best of all; he hardly had to fight for it. What else could a cat wish for?

/

Meanwhile, in his own bed, Spock turned over in his sleep, a slight smile hovering around his lips. It would have been illogical to gloat, but somewhere in his mind there was the knowledge that he had one-upped the doctor. If not, then at least tonight he would get a good night's sleep.

**(A/N: As a cat owner, I have experienced these both. If you have story ideas, please put them in a review or PM me. I don't promise to use any ideas, but I'll look at all I get.)**


	4. Chapter 4 part 1

"No, Captain."

"C'mon, please?"

"No."

"Dangit Spock, this is insubordination!"

"Nowhere in the regulations does it say that I am required to do what you are asking me now."

"Pleeeease?"

"At least tell me, Captain, why exactly do you want to borrow my cat?"

/

Spock did not usually take shore leave when it was offered, but this time he had decided to. After a slight internal debate, he had left Mysouff aboard the _Enterprise_. Although the cat could benefit from fresh air, there were myriad other places at which it could be acquired with a smaller risk of Mysouff becoming lost.

And now here he was. After beaming down, Spock had spent his time strolling around a park, admiring the various floras. He was under the vague impression that the captain had gone to a more metropolitan area, probably to imbibe alcoholic drinks and attempt to 'pick up' a woman. Spock assumed that this was a euphemism because women in general were too heavy to lift easily, and he could not see why one would enjoy it. Then again, humans often did things that made little or no sense.

After a long walk, he had sat down on a park bench and stretched out slightly. Dusk was falling on Tau Ceti e. The sunset was stunning, painting the sky with brilliant scarlet and salmon. With a slight breeze blowing, it was a perfect setting in which to relax.

Hardly two minutes had passed after he sat down when he heard someone running. There was a momentary annoyance when he realized that whoever it was heading in his direction. The individual wasn't an experienced runner; he or she was panting. Without further ado, the person dropped onto the bench, breathing heavily, and turned to the half-Vulcan.

"Hi, Spock."

It was Captain Kirk.

"Hello Ca-"

Cutting him off, Kirk hurriedly pronounced, "I need to borrow your cat."

/

Ultimately, the story came out. As Spock had surmised, Kirk had gone to a bar and met a girl. The girl apparently liked animals.

"So you see if she thought I had some sort of pet, she'd be impressed. You know, think I'm sensitive and all that. I'd keep hold of him; he wouldn't get lost. The fresh air would be good for him."

Spock considered his options. If he continued to refuse, the captain would eventually leave. At the present moment Kirk appeared slightly inebriated. In his right mind, the captain wouldn't even think of such a scheme to impress a woman. When he sobered up, he was sure Kirk wouldn't hold a grudge against him for something like this.

If he allowed Kirk to show Mysouff to the woman, his cat might be lost. There was no way the captain would let him come along, and if Mysouff ran off, he might never get him back.

On another hand, Kirk had been opposed to the cat on the ship at all. Even if he wasn't at his best right now, the captain would probably remember later and perhaps feel more positively inclined to Mysouff.

"Captain, if you take Mysouff, you must allow me to come along.

Kirk groaned.

"I will be unobtrusive. Anyhow, you appear to be slightly drunk. It may be better to have me there to make sure you don't lose control of the cat."

There was another groan. "I didn't drink that much. I'm hardly tipsy." A pause.

"Alright, you win. Go get the cat."

/

Approximately two and a half hours later, Spock was questioning his own judgment when he had let Kirk take his cat. _What was I thinking? I shouldn't have allowed it, no one would have faulted me,_ he thought ruefully. _It's over and done with now, I should be thinking about what to do now_. After all, as Doctor McCoy would say, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

It wasn't really Kirk's fault. How was he supposed to know that the lady was allergic to fur? She seemed nice, certainly attractive by many standards, and didn't at all deserve what happened. The incident was short, but not at all sweet. She yelled, Mysouff bolted, and now he was describing his pet to the local Animal Control office.

"Gender?"

"He is male; unneutered."

"What about description; does he have any identifying marks, or a collar?"

"He doesn't have a collar. I picked one up on this planet, but never got a chance to put it one him. He ran first." He added ruefully. "He has large amber eyes and thick white fur over most of his body. He has a black tail tip, and the left side of his face is light brown."

"And you said his name is Mysouff?"

"Yes."

The young woman had him spell Mysouff's name, then his own, and where he could be reached. The _Enterprise_ would be in orbit around the planet for two more days. If he or they found him before then, it would be a relatively painless operation. Later, it would be much more difficult. Depending where they were, Mysouff could be transported. If they were at a planet there could be a period of quarantine, which could be anywhere from three days to six months.

The young woman stood up. She smiled. "If anyone brings him in, or we find him, we'll notify you. It may take a little time, though. We have a slight problem with strays here, and people are always bringing them in here.

"If he's found after you've left, we'll let you know and make arrangements to get him back to you."

After a few other formalities, Spock left. It was now close to midnight, local time, and almost nobody else was out on the streets. If he didn't know better, he would say the effect was almost eerie, when a gust of wind caught him suddenly. He shivered.

/

On board the _Enterprise_, Kirk, now sober, was appropriately apologetic. McCoy was not.

"For goodness' sake, didn't you know better than to give a drunk man- "

"I wasn't drunk."

"Alright, a slightly tipsy man your cat? I don't care if you were there, Mysouff still got lost. You should've known better!"

"I should have. I do not know why I did not."

McCoy turned to Kirk. "And you! You were drunk; don't deny it. It doesn't matter if he let you in the end, as I understand it you had to badger him and badger him. It's as much your fault as his." He leaned back against a wall, scowling.

"Dangit, both of you. Just… dangit. You _had_ the collar and tags. If you'd just put them on, it could've saved us a lot of trouble looking for him."

He smirked at their surprised looks. Well, Kirk was surprised at least. He was sure Spock was too, even if it didn't show. "You two didn't just think we're going to sit here and let Animal Control do whatever it is they do when someone loses a cat? We have two days; we're all three of us going to search, and no arguing from either of you. Well, Spock, you won't argue; it's your cat. But Jim, you better be ready bright and early tomorrow or… well I'll think of something. But you won't like it."

continued

**(A/N: This is going to be a two-parter since it was longer than I thought it would be. Please review with comments and/or story ideas. I'm open to both positive and negative criticism, but really anything ****_really_**** nasty will be summarily ignored.)**


	5. Chapter 4 part 2

**(A/N: Sorry for the late update, but my writer's block has once again reared its ugly head. To make up, I'm putting up two chapters. Thanks to all who have reviewed this!)**

No one was ready "bright and early" the next morning. At least it was early, but not exactly bright. McCoy informed Spock that it was not necessary to bring the rubber mouse. Then they went to rouse the captain.

"This isn't morning, it's the middle of the night" Kirk groaned.

Spock didn't say a word, but wondered a bit at McCoy's zealousness. He simply put it down to the doctor's liking for both Mysouff and furry creatures in general. He had also noted that the doctor liked to rankle both the captain and himself, although he invariably got more of a reaction from the former.

"Ahh, it's good for you Jim," informed McCoy cheerfully. "And Spock, I still don't know what possessed you-"

"I was not possessed-"

"It's an idiom! A figure of speech! Why didn't you get Mysouff chipped? We could've found him easily enough then."

"I fully intended to, but-"

"Intended! We all _intend_ a lot of things, but I never thought you'd be one to procrastinate."

Spock did not believe he had procrastinated, but didn't say so as he had no desire to be cut off again. This morning, the doctor seemed intent on not letting him finish any of his sentences. They continued through the corridors in silence, until reaching the transporter room.

Once on the planet's surface, the trio split up. Spock never found out exactly where the others were searching, but they didn't cross paths, which suited the Vulcan immensely. He wasn't sure he wanted to endure more of Kirk's clumsy apologies, and he was sure he didn't want the doctor to send him on any more guilt trips, however deserved.

The morning was spent fruitlessly combing the area of town in which Mysouff was lost. There were plenty of strays around, but none of them had his cat's distinctive coloring. There weren't a lot of passerby either, but he was sure to ask anyone he met if they had seen his pet. The answer was always 'no'.

A little after midday, he stopped for a cup of coffee and lunch. The food probably was good, but he hardly tasted it.

He'd walk around the suburbs outside the city later. Now he should contact the doctor and captain; see if they had had any luck. He swallowed the last bit of coffee, and as he did so, his communicator beeped. He put down the cup and picked it up. "Hello, this is Spock."

The voice on the other end was crisp and female. "Hello, Mr. Spock. This is the Tau Ceti e Animal Control Office. Yesterday, you said you had lost your cat?"

"Yes, have you found him?"

"We may have. As your pet has no ID," the voice became a little cold, "we aren't certain. Can you come by and confirm this is your cat?"

"Yes. I will be there in 10.56 minutes give or take 2.3 minutes, depending how the busses are running."

"Vulcans!" muttered the person on the other end of the line.

/

When he arrived at Animal Control (it took 13.6 minutes; there were a lot of red lights) he went straight to the desk at the front. He was guided to an office.

"Is this your cat?" asked the woman sitting at desk. She gestured to a cat carrier sitting on the desk.

Spock undid the catch on the crate and lifted out Mysouff. "Yes, this is my cat."

The lady smiled. "Good. Now there is a bit of paperwork… please sit down."

He did so.

"Someone brought your cat in very late last night. When we get a stray, we have a vet look over it and, if the animal is unneutered or unsprayed, we have it fixed. The local vet is slightly nocturnal, so it was done overnight.

"Now, after all this happened, someone thought of checking it with reports of lost cats. Your name came up, and we called you. Now you're here." She smiled. "Of course, since you're the owner, you'll have to sign off on the procedure and pay for it of course."

"Of course."

"I'd recommend having your cat collared or chipped-"

"I have a collar and tags already." Spock took them from his pocket and began to fasten the black band around Mysouff's neck. The cat mewed his displeasure and began to squirm. "I am planning to have him chipped while we're on the planet; if you could recommend a veterinarian?"

"I'd be glad to. So, if we could just finish with these forms…"

/

About twenty minutes later, Mysouff was once again his and he had the address of a reputable veterinarian in his pocket. The people at Animal Control had been glad to lend him a cardboard box in which to carry his pet. Now he just had to get back to the _Enterprise_-

His communicator beeped. He answered it, but before he could say a word

"Spock! Where the hell are you?"

"Doctor?"

"Who else would it be? Listen, you'd better get your skinny, worthless butt down here or- "

There was the sound of a scuffle on the other end. The Vulcan waited patiently.

"Hello? Spock? This is Kirk. Are you still there?"

"No. What is happening?"

"It's a little hard to explain. Can you come to this address right away?" Kirk rattled off an address. "It's on the south side of town. And hurry before someone gets shot." The captain hung up.

Spock stood still for a second, wondering what could have elicited such a call. Then he hurried off to find a bus schedule.

/

The address was a little white-painted house with a large garden with lots of flowers, which seemed to be the norm in the neighborhood. It was at the end of a street and the top of a hill; above it there was only forest. Spock had been able to ride the bus to the bottom of the street. Walking up the hill had been almost like looking through a park; almost every house had a garden overflowing with colorful blooms.

The idyllic picture was flawed, however, by what happened almost exactly after Spock made the aforesaid observation. The half-Vulcan was almost bowled over by Doctor McCoy running at full tilt down the hill. Kirk, who wasn't too far behind, helped steady Spock, who was trying not to lose his grip on the cardboard box, which had began to caterwaul.

Kirk grabbed Spock's arm and started running. "C'mon, hurry up!"

Trying to keep up (running downhill while being pulled by a frantic human and holding a heavy box was not easy) Spock managed to ask "Was this what you wanted help with?"

"Tell you later. Try to keep up!"

Several blocks later, they caught up with the Doctor. Spock asked "What happened?"

McCoy stopped gasping for breath to say "Honest mistake. Nothing's the matter." A pause. "She had a cat that looked kinda like yours. Almost clawed my face off." Now that he looked for them, there were indeed a couple of scratches down the side of McCoy's face. "Anyway, I yelled. This woman comes out and threatens to phaser me. Words were exchanged. That's when I called you."

Now Kirk took up the thread of the story. "Then there was some shouting. I don't want to go into it. But," and here he smiled. "she asked for my number!"

"Yeah," said McCoy. "So she could 'find out who you nutjobs are' were her exact words. Now Spock, what's in the box?"

If human, Spock would be grinning from ear to ear. As it was, there was only the slightest hint of pleasure in his voice, hardly detectable in fact, as he said, "Mysouff."


	6. Chapter 5

**(A/N: The idea for this chapter came from DragonsRme. Thanks a lot!)**

It was somewhere, he was sure of that. It was just waiting for him to show a bit, just a bit, of incaution. He peered around the corner, eyes slitted. Seeing the empty corridor, he dashed across it into the turbolift. As the doors closed, he took a breath of relief and slumped against the wall.

Suddenly, he stiffened. Something soft brushed against his leg. Oh no…

/

Mysouff rubbed against Kirk's leg and purred. Kirk reached down and stroked the cat. Why did he give that cat the run of the ship? True, it hadn't really been much of a problem. True, now that it was chipped, they could locate the cat easily. True, it had kept out of the way.

Everyone seemed to be smitten with the cat. Yeah, it was cute, he could agree with that at least. Someone (no one would admit to it) had circulated a petition to let Mysouff roam around.

But the bridge of a starship was no place for a cat! What if there was an emergency? It would just be in the way-

"Hey!"

The sudden shout brought him out of the reverie. Were they under attack? No, nobody seemed panicked. Who yelled, then?

"Ow! Get it off!" Everyone (almost everyone; Spock was hunched over his station, trying to disregard the scene) was staring at the tableau in the front of the bridge.

No one had seen precisely how it happened, but it was pretty easy to guess. Mysouff had jumped up onto the back of Chekov's chair. He had tried to climb onto the Russian's head, which was what provoked the first outburst. Startled by the noise, the cat tried to jump down.

The other shout came from the fact that Mysouff's paw was now tangled in Chekov's hair. The harder the cat tried to get free, the harder it yanked at Chekov's hair, triggering another yelp of pain. This made Mysouff more frantic.

"Spock! Get your cat under control!"

Unable to ignore the scene any longer, Spock moved forward and attempted to untangle paws from hair. Very conscious of all the eyes trained on him he bent forward, and tried to disentangle his pet. It wasn't easy.

"Come with me," he muttered, pulling Chekov off the bridge. This would be much easier without everyone watching. He could calm his cat down, and get Mysouff out of the Russian's hair. And if all else failed, he could find a sharp pair of scissors.

/

To make a long story short, the now-traumatized navigator got an impromptu haircut, and Mysouff was confined to Spock's quarters. Of course, that wasn't the end. Not by a long shot…

/

The first clue was that Mysouff was becoming increasingly creative about trying to escape Spock's room. Confining him became almost impossible.

The second clue was that Mysouff was pretty easy to find. Not just because of the chip, but because he was now in the habit of following Chekov around the ship. Wherever he was, the cat was also.

This was scaring Chekov. He could explain the fear if the cat tried to scratch his legs, or even just rub them. It was very unnerving to just be followed, especially with his recently developed ailurophobia. Doctor McCoy wasn't entirely sympathetic either. He just found the whole thing hilarious.

"It isn't funny," Chekov grumbled. "It's wery unnerving."

"Sure, I know. But weren't cats domesticated in Russia?"

"Not this one."

No one he talked to seemed to sympathize with his plight. So, he reasoned, he had to talk to the one person who could possibly do something about it.

/

_ Knock. Knock._

Behind the door a voice called out, "Come in."

As the door opened, Chekov froze. Spock was sitting on the floor, dangling a rubber mouse on a string. Batting at the mouse was… the cat.

Spock looked up. "Yes?"

Without a word, Chekov fled.

/

Since then, it had seemed his only course of action was to avoid the cat as much as possible. Now, he had been careless. He was in the same turbolift as Mysouff. _Don't panic_, he told himself. In just a few moments, the doors would open. Just a few moments. A few more moments.

Why weren't they opening?

Oh no, the turbolift was broken! No one would fix it for hours. The cat would claw out all of his hair! He'd be bald!

_Okay, calm down, Chekov. You're starting to hyperventilate. Besides, it's just a cat. It can't do anything._

"Maowrr?"

Chekov fainted.

The doors opened two seconds later to reveal a very surprised Doctor McCoy.

/

"Okay, this is getting way out of hand!"

Spock shifted position imperceptively. No casual observer would have noticed, but after years of working with Spock, McCoy knew the Vulcan was uncomfortable.

"Your cat is terrorizing Chekov! I know I thought it was just a big joke, but do you know where he was this morning?"

"No."

"I found him in a turbolift. Unconscious! With your cat! And what are you going to do about it?"

Spock was impassive. "If he had let me known about this, I would have offered help."

"Well _apparently_ he's been scared to go anywhere near you because of Mysouff!"

"I wasn't aware of that."

"Of course you weren't. That Mysouff is a real Houdini, you know. It seems like he can get through every door on this ship. Now what do you have to say about that?"

"Felines in general dislike the smell of citrus. I have used it as a deterrent to keep Mysouff away from my desk. I would recommend it to Chekov."

The Doctor blinked. "Okay…"

/

Kirk felt like something was… different on the bridge. He cocked his head. Maybe it was something in the air? He sniffed.

Did the bridge smell like… oranges?

The smell seemed to be coming from Chekov, who had scattered orange peels around his console and had a lemon on a string around his neck.

He opened his mouth to say something, but caught the gaze of Spock, who gave a miniscule shake of his head.

Oh, well. Chekov looked happier than he had in weeks. He could live with the smell.

Well, maybe.

It _was_ a little strong…


	7. Chapter 6

**(A/N: Not my best, but I thought I should post something. I may revise this later. As always, please review with suggestions and/or comments.)**

Tribbles.

They were cute, in a mangy-furball kind of way.

They were harmless, in a not-harmless-at-all kind of way.

They were lovable, but only if you were another tribble.

They were the bane of Captain Kirk's existence.

So why were they on his ship?

/

How did it start? It must have been with one tribble, either brought aboard by an unwitting crewmember or as a stowaway in some supplies. One tribble didn't sound like much of a problem. But there was never such a thing as one tribble.

At least, not for long.

Kirk was wandering the corridors with a bucket. When he saw a tribble, he picked it up and put it in the bucket. The whole crew had buckets. Buckets were filling up the cargo hold.

Of course, the buckets hadn't helped at all. The darned things reproduced faster than warp speed. At least the buckets gave an impression of doing something useful. In two or three days, they would be at a starbase, where they could be gotten rid of.

He spotted another tribble. It went in the bucket.

Of course, getting rid of them at a starbase was assuming they could get to a starbase. They had infested engineering and were fouling up just about everything. It was just about guaranteed they would get into the engines sooner or later.

He bent down to pick up another.

"Captain?"

"Spock?"

"Could you please let go of my hair?"

Kirk let go. "Why are you lying on the floor?"

"I tripped. Tribbles are a walking hazard."

"You look kind of sleepy."

"I assure you I am not."

"Fine. I must be getting tired though; I thought your hair was a black tribble."

"Tribbles are not black."

"Uh huh. Mind if I sit down?"

Spock didn't answer. Kirk took that to mean the Vulcan didn't mind and sat down. "I didn't get a wink of sleep last night. They were in the walls, purring and purring. That is possibly the worst sound in the universe."

As if on cue, both his bucket and Spock's began to purr loudly. He slapped his and groaned.

/

Chekov hummed as he put tribbles in his bucket. Of course, he would not mention this to anyone, lest word of it reach the Captain, but he rather liked tribbles. Someone would eventually figure out how to breed a tribble that didn't eat so much and have so many babies, and he couldn't wait.

He grabbed three tribbles in a big fist and dropped them in the bucket. He stuck his hand in and stroked the tribbles in the bucket. They were so soft!

Chekov rounded the corner and found even more tribbles. They were streaming out of a tipped-over bucket. He righted the container and scooped as many as he could back into it.

He looked around for any more, and saw a pair of boots sticking out around a corner. The Russian turned the corner.

The sight that met his eyes was… surprising, to say the least. Mr. Spock was lying on his back on the floor, and Captain Kirk was leaning against the wall. The captain was snoring gently. Needless to say, they were both covered with tribbles. A blond one rested on Spock's upper lip, giving it the appearance of a moustache.

He gingerly lifted that one into the bucket. Spock's nose twitched, but he otherwise did not stir.

Chekov took two smallish brown ones from the captain's shoulders. Into the bucket they went.

There was a big cream-colored tribble on the Vulcan's stomach. He picked it up. It purred. He petted it.

He plucked another from near Kirk's foot. He deposited both of them in the bucket. A little white one bumped against his boot. He picked it up and put it on his head like a hat. Why did the captain dislike tribbles so much? They were adorable! And so sweet…

The white tribble fell off his head onto Kirk's. The Captain awoke. The white one fell to the floor. Chekov quickly snatched it into the bucket.

"Chekov?"

"Yes?" He did his best to stand to attention. This was complicated by the heavy bucket and the numerous tribbles nosing around his feet. Of course they weren't nosing, he thought absent-mindedly, they didn't have noses.

"I wasn't asleep, okay?"

"Okay."

"Neither was Spock."

"Okay."

Kirk nudged the Vulcan with his foot. "Spock," he hissed, "Wake up."

The Vulcan opened his eyes. "I was not asleep."

Kirk and Spock got to their feet. The captain searched for a way to change the subject. "Er, Chekov, what happened to your lemon?"

The Russian fingered the string around his neck. "It was too heavy. I have a kumquat now."

"Huh. Does it work?"

"Perfectly."

A tribble suddenly fell from the ceiling. It landed right on top of Chekov.

Chekov reached for it when there was a bloodcurdling yowl from further down the corridor. All eyes turned to the commotion. Chekov's widened.

Mysouff trotted toward them, looking smug. He dropped something small and bedraggled in front of Spock. "Maowrr?"

Spock picked it up. "It's a tribble."

The cat pounced on another one. And another one. Mysouff was having the time of his life on a spaceship full of small furry creatures to attack.

The trio watched silently. Finally Kirk spoke up. "Well, Spock, maybe that cat of yours is useful after all." Spock nodded.

Chekov clutched his kumquat. The cat had been leaving him alone, but it was something else entirely to see it attack those poor defenseless tribbles. He didn't care what Spock or the captain thought; it was just awful. He put his bucket on the floor.

"Hey," he said softly. The other two men turned to look at him. "Hey." He stuck his foot out at Mysouff.

"What are you doing?" Kirk had a bemused expression on his face.

Chekov stuck his foot out further and nudged the cat. "Quit it. Go on, leave them alone."

Mysouff gave Chekov a glance of utter indifference. Then he took an experimental swipe at the Russian's leg.

"Ahh!" Chekov tried to get away but overbalanced and fell backwards. Right onto his bucket. It tipped over, spilling tribbles on the floor.

Mysouff's eyes widened. Here were _dozens_ of little furry things to chase! The only thing between them and him was this human lying on the floor. There was only one thing to do, really.

"Ahh! Aughh!" Chekov desperately tried to rise, but the crazed cat was equally desperately trying to scramble over him. Chekov flung his hands over his face. "Getitoffgetitoff!" There was a pause, then "Oof!" as Mysouff springboarded off his chest.

Chekov opened his eyes, and then closed them again. Those poor tribbles… they may be pests but they shouldn't have to get attacked by a lunatic cat.

Kirk turned to Spock. "What was that all about?"

"It appears that he is sympathetic to the tribbles." Spock picked up his cat. "I had best put Mysouff in my quarters." He left.

Kirk stood for a minute, thinking. He shrugged, picked up his bucket and wandered off.


End file.
